He met young Sam coming the other way as he headed for the cells. The boy's face was white in the gloom.
"Found anyone?" said Vimes.
"Oh, sarge...sarge..." Tears were running down the lance-constable's face.
Vimes reached out and steadied himself. Sam felt as though there were no bones left in his body. He was trembling.
"There's a woman in the last cell, and she...sarge...oh, sarge..."
"Try taking deep breaths," said Vimes. "Not that this air is fit to breathe."
"And there's a room right at the end, sarge...oh, sarge...Nancyball fainted again, sarge..."
"You didn't," said Vimes, patting him gently on the back.
"Let's rescue what we can, shall we, lad?"
"But we were on the hurry-up wagon, sarge!"
"What?" said Vimes, and then it dawned. Oh yes...
"But we didn't hand anyone over, lad," he said. "Remember?"
"But I've been on it before, sarge! All the lads have! We just handed people over and went back to the Watch House for cocoa, sarge!"
"Well, you'd had orders..." said Vimes, for what good that did.
Not exactly, thought Vimes. We didn't ask. We just shut out minds to it. People went in through the front door and some of the poor devils came out through the secret door, not always in one box.
Terry Pratchett, Night Watch